


winter skies and summer rain

by Nehanshika_524



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Autistic Keith (Voltron), Chuvash Dragon!Keith, Chuvash!Keith, Dragon!Keith, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Selkie!Lance, Selkie!Plaxum, yes this is a klaxum fic now. none of u can stop me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-06 08:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11596710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehanshika_524/pseuds/Nehanshika_524
Summary: You'd suppose fire and water would be incompatible opposites. Usually, they are. But sometimes, the two combine, and create something beautiful, smokey, and intricate- together.(Selkie: a mythical creature that can change between human and seal formsChuvash dragon: a type of dragon that can change into a human at will)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the "mermaids are notoriously hated and attacked, and what do you mean you're a mermaid" AU, except with selkies, because damn i love selkies.  
> i wanted to play with the whole theme of "fire and water" with these two, and have been planning this story for quite some time! however, i have ADHD, so, uh... motivation is hard to come by. so, just as a disclaimer: i am not sure when i'll have the next chapter up! but i promise to upload it as soon as i've fleshed out the story a little more, and as soon as the chapters are planned out.  
> thanks for reading!

Keith had always hated the rain.

It was almost three a.m, and yet here he was, walking along a beach, horrible, cold water pelting down on his bare shoulders, a soaked shirt he held under his arm. He rarely wore a shirt- it was always far too hot. Even now, he was warm, despite the freezing storm raging above him. He imagined tiny clouds of steam floating up from where the rain touched his skin.

 _I should go back home._ He kicked a rock into the water. What was the point, though? He still wouldn’t be able to sleep, and he was blissfully alone either way. Might as well stay here a while.

Keith was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t hear it at first. He simply stared at the wet sand beneath him, contemplating what to do. The second time, though, it reached him, loud and clear.

“HELP! SOMEONE!”

The voice came from the rocky alcove ahead of him. Keith’s head snapped up towards it, his eyes widening. Who on Earth would be screaming for help at three in the morning…? But he ran anyway, towards the screaming, towards the rocks, against the harsh wind.

* * *

 

Lance didn’t know how long he’d been stuck there for. First there was crashing- a thunderous collision of him and the waves and a scary, monstrous something- and then he was gone, passed out, left to die. He was half-shifted, too; from the waist up, he had returned to a relatively human form, but from the waist down…

He tried calling out, but his voice was hoarse and tired, the howling wind stripping it entirely away. Tears filled his eyes. His cheeks stung from the angry rain, thrashing down almost like hail. Was he going to die like this?

“HELP!” He tried again, summoning all his strength into one last, desperate plea. “HELP! SOMEONE!”

No answer.

Just silence.

Lance fell back onto the sand, biting back a sob. It wasn’t like anyone would help him anyway, he thought bitterly. He was just a worthless selkie. The scum of the Earth. The most terrifying and despicable of all creatures. Nobody would care about a _selkie_ ’s life. A _selkie_ ’s life didn’t even matter. God, whoever saw him would probably kill him, anyway!

Vainly, he tried to pull his tail free, but to no avail. Lance collapsed back on the sand, burying his face in his hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He was going to die like this. He was going to die.

“Hello? Who’s out there, what’s- what’s wrong?”

Lance turned towards the sound, hope surging within him. _Not yet,_ he tried to remind himself. _You’re not safe yet._

“Hey, where are you? Hello?”

“O-over here!” He called out quickly. He heard the sound of bare feet against sand, and almost collapsed with relief. Within moments, the tall, dark-haired figure came into full view, brow furrowed with worry. His eyes- they were unusually bright, he noticed- widened as he took Lance’s form.

Lance knew exactly what he was seeing- a deformed half-monster, beached pathetically and lying uselessly, the sand beneath him dyed red by his own blood, tail caught on- on something. He looked away, waiting for the stranger to either run away or choke him.

Instead, an acute pain shot through the ends of his tail. His eyes flew open and he reflexively kicked outward.

“Ow, watch it! I’m helping you, calm down.”

It was then that he realised the pain was, in fact, the person trying to gently disentangle his tail. For a moment, he couldn’t make sense of what was happening, but then a wave of mingled relief and gratitude rose in his chest.

“How did you even… Jesus, what happened to you?”

Lance barely heard him. A pleasant warmth seemed to radiate from his touch. It was soothing- he normally hated warmth, but this was… nice. He felt himself starting to relax.

“Hey, you listening? I asked what happened.”

The selkie snapped back to attention. “Uh, sorry. I dunno, I think I got hit by something… Couldn’t shift all the way back.”

Lance heard him mutter something like “No shit, Sherlock…” but made no other reply. There was silence, no sound but that of falling rain, as he slowly, _painfully_ \- he flinched- freed his tail. It hurt so badly, like spikes digging into every part of his flesh, tearing away at sensitive skin and ripping blood from beneath them. But the warmth pouring from the hands at his tail alleviated this somewhat, making it easier to bear.

“I’m Keith, by the way.” The boy, now known as Keith, said rather suddenly. “Do you have a name, or…?”

Lance crossed his arms. “Wh- of course I do! What, you think selkies just wander around calling each other by numbers? The name’s _Lance_ , prettyboy.”

Keith glared at him, and this time Lance was certain his eyes weren’t normal. It could’ve been a trick of the light, but… People didn’t usually have slit pupils, did they?

“Prettyboy?” Keith said. “Call me that again, and I might not be so eager to help.”

They both stayed silent after that, until Keith finally finished disentangling the seal-like tail, ripping off a bit of the shirt he’d been carrying to use as a makeshift bandage. “Alright, done.”

Lance sat up, realising he could draw his tail back enough to do so, and flicked it slightly. _Ouch_. He peered down its length, trying not to shudder at the sheer amount of red pouring from it, despite the shirt-bandage. He gaped at the damage; it was caused by one of those horrible fish nets, one with spikes and spines along the rope, tangling both around a particularly stubborn rock and Lance’s tail. He felt queasy at the sight, and turned away.

“…Thanks.” He murmured to Keith.

The rain began to lessen. Keith sat down next to him. “It’s fine. I… Can’t believe people are still allowed to make nets like that. Cuttle rasp, right?” He cradled his hand- it was bleeding, Lance noticed, heart sinking with guilt. “…Why would you even help me?” He asked.

Keith turned towards him. “Sorry, what…?”

“Why wou—“

“Because you were going to die?” Keith interrupted. Then he blinked. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to… I sometimes can’t, um, process…” He sighed. “It’s Lance, right?”

Lance nodded.

“Well, Lance, you were screaming for help, covered in your own blood and beached in the middle of summer. You… were gonna die. You needed help.” He gestured towards the wounds. “You still might bleed out, actually… Can you swim like that? Do you have anyone back- y’know, underwater- that can patch you up?”

The selkie frowned, averting his eyes. “About that…”

Keith groaned.

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s just… I’m sort of… An exile? That’s why I was out this far in the first place,” He gestured towards the sea. “I sorta doubt I’ll be welcomed back with open arms, if you catch my meaning.”

“So it’s _not_ fine.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault they’re a buncha homophobes!”

“What do you expect _me_ to do about it?!”

At that, Lance looked away. “I mean, I did expect you to kill me. Didn’t really plan this far ahead.”

* * *

 

Keith felt instantly guilty. _Well, shit._ So now he had an exiled, injured selkie on his hands, he hadn’t slept, and the rain was beginning to pour again. Fantastic.

“Sorry…” He muttered. But his mind was on other things- how were you supposed to look after a hurt selkie? How were you supposed to look after a selkie at all? Should he just bring him home? If he was caught sheltering one…

He couldn’t turn Lance in- he wouldn’t. The stigma against selkies was bad enough as it was; it’d be… it’d be easy to just say that Lance had attacked him, and that would be the end of it.

But he knew he wasn’t going to do that. Only a complete asshole would save someone only to send them to their death.

He sighed. That left taking him back to his apartment. Keith vaguely wondered if the tub would be big enough for him. He stood up, and Lance looked away. “That’s fine. Just go. It’ll be easier for you anyway.”

Keith rolled his eyes at how fucking _extra_ this selkie was, and bent to pick him up. “Don’t be stupid. And don’t make any noise, I don’t wanna get caught.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINGERGUNS  
> YA BOI ACTUALLY WROTE A SECOND CHAPTER  
> i've mostly finished detailing an outline for this story sO hopefully chapter updates will be more frequent!!!

“Ow! Tail, dude!”

“Hey, quiet! No noise, remember?”

“Sorry, sorry…”

The sun was rising steadily on the horizon, now, and Keith was starting to get worried. He was cradling Lance, bridal-style, as quietly as he could back to his apartment. Ordinarily, it would take him about five minutes to reach it from here, but he was on foot, and carrying a selkie. A whiny, hurt, obnoxious selkie.

“…Sorry about your tail.” Keith muttered. Lance sighed. “How long until we get to your place? It’s been, what, an hour?”

“I dunno, I don’t normally, uh… Travel on foot.” He said. Lance twisted to look up at him incredulously. “You mean you have a car?! And you just decided to _carry_ me back?”

Keith shifted uncomfortably. “I never said I had a car. I just don’t travel on foot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Keith said nothing. They walked in silence for another mile or so, the only sound being the crunch of skate-park gravel beneath Keith’s feet. Keith occasionally glanced around, anxiously anticipating some angry mob. If anyone saw him like this, they could both be killed.

Selkies were considered subhuman and dangerous; the way most humans saw it, if selkies could live underwater, they should stay there, and stop “terrorising the populace”. _But selkies aren’t entirely seal,_ Keith thought. _They’re human too._

Forbidding them from going above land was preposterous, in Keith’s view. Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one; a lot of people campaigned for selkie rights to live on land, and to illegalise selkie-culling.

Technically, it’s illegal to kill a selkie, but if they’re out of water, they are subject to the “fish out of water” law; if a selkie is not in its “natural habitat”, i.e. the ocean, they could be considered a threat, and eliminated in the name of self-defence.

 _Self-defence,_ Keith thought, remembering a recent news story- a beached, pregnant selkie woman, beaten to death by authorities for “refusing to re-enter the ocean”. _Bullshit it is._

Her body had rotted on the beach for a full week before it was removed. There were even theories that she had been deliberately pulled from the water, just so they would have an excuse to murder her.

He was so lost in thought that he at first didn’t hear Lance’s cry of alarm. When Lance slapped him with his tail, though, Keith looked up, and his eyes widened. _Oh, shit._

Without thinking, he ducked behind a low-lying wall in the skate park, making sure Lance wasn’t visible. He held him close, keeping a close watch on the edge of the wall, ready to fight if things got bad. Keith heard Lance’s ragged, panicked breaths, so shallow and scared compared to his own; heavy, deliberate. Already, he felt his nails aching to sharpen, felt hot plumes of smoke curling from his mouth.

A footstep. Keith’s protective hold on Lance tightened. Fiery anticipation rose in his chest, and he leaned defensively over Lance, eyes fixed on the wall, as a lioness might protect her cubs. His eyes narrowed. He held his breath as the person came unnervingly close, and waited in silent stillness, preparing, anticipating.

Eventually, the footsteps receded, and Keith exhaled, shoulders relaxing, and closed his eyes. He heard Lance breathe a sigh of relief. “Come on,” Keith said quietly, standing up slowly as to not further injure the selkie. “We’re almost there.”

 

* * *

 

Lance wasn’t quite sure what to make of Keith.

They’d made it to the apartment without further incident, and Keith had run a quick cold bath for Lance so he’d have somewhere to rest and recover; Selkies could heal on their own, but it was difficult unless they had water. Once he was in the water, he shifted back into an entirely seal form with a sigh of relief, and Keith dug around in the cupboard until he found a first-aid kit. As gently as he could, Keith affixed an actual bandage to Lance’s wounds, tossing the torn-up shirt to a corner on the floor. Occasionally, Lance would whine in pain as Keith’s fingers grazed the cuts, and Keith would immediately drew his hands back and apologise, and ask if he was alright, before going back to dressing the injuries.

After the bandage was safely around Lance’s tail, Keith closed the curtains around the bath, and said he’d be in his room- just across the hall, well within earshot- should Lance need anything.

And then he left.

Lance sank back into the bath, grateful to at least be in one consistent form as opposed to trapped between two, bleeding out on the beach. And speaking of… He owed his life to Keith. Why had he helped him? It was obvious he didn’t like having to shelter a selkie, so why bother?

But… At the skate park… Lance remembered how scary Keith had looked. His abnormally warm skin had flared with sudden heat, and his eyes had narrowed, and this time, Lance was sure of what he saw; his pupils were cold, and thin, almost reptilian. He swore he saw smoke curl beneath Keith’s lips.

And he had been protecting him. That was the strangest part; he had leaned over Lance, arms wrapped tightly around him, glaring at the corner of the wall, looking ready to kill should anyone dare endanger Lance.

He flopped over in the bath so he was lying on his side. It just didn’t make sense; when Keith talked to him, he was impatient and short. But when he was dressing his bleeding tail, carrying him, taking care of him… He was gentle, his touch soft. It was confusing.

And on top of that, he was some kinda weird anti-selkie! Sure, Lance didn’t know many humans, but he was pretty sure they didn’t have skin warmer than Australian sun and pupils that belonged on a cat rather than a person.

He almost considered calling out to Keith, just so he’d have someone to talk to- and, maybe, to figure out just what Keith was-  but he stopped himself, remembering how tired he had looked. He deserved the rest, Lance figured. After all, he had just saved someone’s life.

Lance smiled to himself, and twirled slightly, coming to rest on his belly. He should probably sleep, too. It had been a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEET IT'S A KLAXUM FIC NOW ENJOY  
> (the focus is still on the Keith/Lance side of things, but i love Plaxum and i really, really wanted to include her in the story. and plot-wise, it'd make sense for her to be close to Lance, and a lot of people don't like shipping Lance with girls despite headcanoning him as bi lmao. so here u go! good klaxum content)

In retrospect, Keith should’ve expected the sudden _knock, knock, knock_ on his door that morning. Groggily, he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Authorities!” A voice said. Keith’s blood ran cold. “Open up.”

“Uh- yeah, coming!” Keith called back.  He raced into the bathroom. Okay, this was okay. This was fine. It was fine.

Lance had half-shifted again, presumably so he could talk, and was sat up in the bath, looking about as terrified as Keith felt. His eyes widened as Keith took off his shirt, and he averted his gaze. Keith didn’t notice.  He muttered, “We’ve gotta hide you. Now. Police are here. I’ll come up with an excuse.” The selkie nodded, letting Keith hoist him out of the bath and hurriedly into his wardrobe. “Hide under that pile of coats. And don’t make a sound, okay?”

Lance nodded again, and Keith shut the doors.

“Sir, if you don’t open the door—“

“Sorry, sorry!” Keith called again, quickly wetting his hair to look like he’d just come out of the bath and wrapping a towel around his waist. He rushed to the front door and opened it, greeting the officer with a relaxed smile. “Didn’t exactly want to greet you like this, but…”

“It’s quite fine,” she replied, looking uncomfortable. “We were told by an anonymous informant that someone had been sighted carrying what looked like a _seal_ -” she said the word like a curse, “-to this building. Did you see anything?” She paused, noticing Keith’s shivering. “I thought you just got out of the bath.”

Keith shifted. “Uh, yeah, cold bath. Warm weather, you know…”

The cop nodded slowly. “…Right. But, about the seal?”

“Didn’t see anything, officer.” He hoped that nervous sweating could be masked by the water dripping from his hair. She looked him up and down for a moment, and Keith’s breath hitched, but apparently, he passed inspection, and she nodded at him. “Alright. Enjoy the rest of your day, sir. A squad will be by later this week to conduct a search.”

“Thanks for letting me know. You have a good day, too,” Keith smiled. She soon left, Keith shutting the door behind her. And then he collapsed.

Keith’s knees hit the floor. He trembled wildly, burying his face in his hands. _Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._

He held a hand out in front of him. It shook. It didn’t stop shaking. He tried to breathe deeply. What came out was a gasp of a sob. His breath was as unsteady as his hands. He tried not to cry. He tried to calm down. He tried to breathe.

“…ith? Keith, buddy? You okay?” Lance’s voice was faint. Keith looked up. He didn’t realise he was panting, gasping for breath like he’d run a marathon. He… He needed a minute. He needed to calm down.

“Keith?” It was more urgent this time. “Keith, what’s wrong?”

Keith sighed. Breathe in. Breathe deep. Breathe in for four, hold for seven, breathe out for eight. Four, seven, eight. Four, seven, eight.

Slowly, he stood up. He was still trembling, but not so badly he couldn’t walk. “I’m…” He took a deep breath. “I’m alright. Everything’s okay.” He called back. _Just had a fucking anxiety attack because the cops showed up at my doorstep after I helped rescue a selkie._

He started walking back towards his room, hearing Lance sigh with relief. “Can you get me back into the bath, then? It’s kinda… Gross in here.”

Keith almost laughed. “Rude.” He opened the doors, lifting the coats off of Lance and gently picking him up again. “How’s your tail? Any better?”

Lance stretched it carefully outwards, then flinched. “Nope. Still bad. Looks like I’m stuck with you for a while,” He smirked, blue eyes twinkling. Something in Keith’s stomach flipped over, his heart pounding, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “U-uh, yeah.”

The selkie gave him a questioning look, but Keith said nothing, instead setting him down inside the bath and half-closing the curtain. “Again- I’m just across the hall.”

Keith shut the door behind him, his heart still fluttering anxiously. _What was_ that _?_

 

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, below the ocean, in an underwater city, a selkie girl protests to her dad._

“It’s not fair! You just agreed to banish him like that?! What is wrong with you?” She demanded, indignantly swimming in front of her dad to block his path. He frowned. “I didn’t ‘banish’ him, Plaxum. This is a well-developed town, not a medieval city.”

“Citadel or no, you basically told him that if he came back, you’d throw him in jail because you’re a captain! And what, just because he wanted to date a boy as well as a girl?” She snapped. “I bet it’s because of the plot,” she muttered ominously. “You’re all conspiring against selkie-kind. Maybe you’re those mer-folk we’ve heard about, posing as selkies, and you’re going to overthrow our government!”

The older selkie turned sharply towards her. “Stop that nonsense. You know it’s wrong, Plaxie; Selkies are a dying race. Besides, I don’t want someone like him anywhere near you.” He sped up, powerful tail taking him further away from his daughter. Plaxum gritted her teeth and swam faster to keep up with him.

“Listen to me!” She said indignantly. “You never _listen_!”

“Go to your room, Plaxum.” He said tiredly, and with a final, powerful kick, he had moved far away from his daughter.

Plaxum growled in his direction, and pushed towards the surface, exploding through the water in a shower of glass-like droplets. She hit the water with an angry splash, and swam back down to her home.

She breezed past her mother without a word- she’d also voted to kick out all the selkies who were different, so Plaxum had nothing to say to her- and went to her room, the door slamming shut in her wake.

Plaxum swam in frustrated circles, pacing back and forth, fuming with anger. They’d basically thrown out her boyfriend. Her boyfriend! Just because he said he wanted to date boys, too! Not to mention every other gay selkie in this godforsaken town.

She gritted her teeth, and slammed the “drain” button with her flipper. She didn’t want to be a seal right now. She wanted to yell.

As the water was slowly let out, back into the ocean, Plaxum shed her seal form, blue-grey skin melting into dark brown, smooth, streamlined body straightening and becoming human, hair growing into long, dark plaits with dyed teal ends. She stood up, a little wobbly on human feet- she hadn’t been in this form for a while- but steadying herself almost instantly.

The girl took a deep breath. And she yelled.

She grabbed a pillow of seaweed and screamed into it. She hurled a conch shell across the room, and it shattered. It was a seventh birthday present from her dad. She didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

Plaxum kicked her door and immediately regretted it, but she was too angry to care about pain. She wanted to yell some more, but her throat was sore and she was tired. Finally, she just collapsed on her bed, and cried.

She cried for a long, long time. Hours passed, and when she finally stopped, it was far past midnight.

Plaxum made up her mind then and there. She was leaving. She was going to find Lance, and she was going to stay with him. She was running away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter was short! i'm also experiencing some pretty bad writer's block, so, unfortunately, i don't know when the next chapter will be up :C  
> i won't abandon this fic though! promise!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a glimpse into Lance and Keith's pasts, chuvash dragon abilities, and Plaxum's journey as a chaotic neutral (fight me on this, that's 100% her alignment).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUUUUGE thank-you to KnifeBinaryPrince (klancept on tumblr) for helping me out with this chapter/generally being an awesome motivational person!!!!!! ily!! this chapter definitely wouldnt be up if not for them, so go shower them with love and affection uwu  
> honestly, i've been stuck in such a rut with this story lately that i wasn't sure when i'd have the next chapter up. i mean. im a student with adhd u kno  
> BUT IT'S HERE and hopefully its copious length will make up for the long gap between chapters.  
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this fic for this long, thank you to Ki, and thanks for all the kudos and lovely comments!!! <3

It had been three whole days since Keith had taken Lance in, and his wound wasn’t showing any signs of improvement; selkies were supposed to be able to heal in water, but so far, it looked like only the inflammation had gone down. Lance still whined in pain at the slightest movement, and he seemed to be getting worse with each passing day.

Keith bit his lip. He was sitting in a crouch at his table, a piece of severely burnt toast in one hand and a pen in the other. He nibbled absentmindedly at the squarish piece of charcoal that may have once passed as bread and stared at the notebook in front of him, as if glaring angrily would give him answers, theories, ideas- anything to help Lance. The corners of the page began to smoke, and Keith frowned, picking up the notebook and shaking it lightly. Maybe he should stare _less_ angrily at it.

A loud THUD sounded from the bathroom. Keith bolted up immediately and raced towards it, stopping short at the doorway, the question “Are you okay?” already forming on his lips.

Lance looked up sheepishly. A large bottle of soap lay morosely on the floor. “Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to reach the shampoo.”

Keith closed his eyes and sighed. “Why,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “do you need shampoo?”

Lance balked. “Wh— don’t tell me you don’t see these beautiful chestnut locks, _Keith_! You have to treat them like a fine lady, with care and attention and expensive hair products!”

“Oh, sure, I treat my hair like a lady. Which is to say, I _don’t touch it_. And that’s hand-soap you just knocked over, not shampoo.” He picked up the bottle, placing it back on its shelf. “I don’t buy things I don’t need.”

At this, the selkie pretended to sink into a dead faint. “He doesn’t even keep hair products in his house.” He said in despair. “O great Jonathan Van Ness, we can’t help him now- he’s too far gone.”

“Who in the—Wait, _Queer Eye_ Jonathan?”

Lance opened an eye cautiously. “Perhaps he is not beyond salvation,” he whispered fervently. Keith rolled his eyes. “How do you even get Netflix underwater? Isn’t that impossible?”

“Hey, selkie technology is a thing of great envy in a lotta places. Waterproof wi-fi modems designed to send signals underwater. Built-in housing drains for airtight rooms. _And high-quality shampoo to protect well-cultivated hair from salt water_!”

Keith shook his head, crossing his arms. “Will you stop whining if I get you some shampoo?”

At that, Lance sat up, immediately wincing as he did so. But his eyes were bright. “And conditioner. And oil. Sulfate-free. Pharmaceutical brand!” Keith blinked, raising his hands in surrender. “Just give me a written list. I’ll get a pen and paper.”

 

Thirty minutes later, after a half-comical, half-embarrassing ordeal in which Lance tried to figure out how to use a fountain pen, Keith walked through the sliding glass doors into the blast of cruel air-conditioning that was the general store. Briefly, he stopped by the seafood section- for some reason, Lance really liked squid- before making a beeline to the hair products aisle, eyes practically glued to the piece of paper. He frowned as he tried to decipher Lance’s loopy cursive. Why did he write in cursive? Why?

He was so immersed in the many mysteries of Lance’s Hair Product List (as it was so titled) that he didn’t see the short girl tearing through the store until it was too late.

She crashed against Keith’s chest and was knocked to the floor, yelping. A heavy-looking duffel bag skidded to the side. Keith started to apologise; “Uh- sorry, are you—”

“OhmanIamsosorryIshould’velookedwhereIwasgoingandnoIdon’tneedyourhelpI’mfine—” she stood up, scrambling to pick up the bag, and promptly cut herself off. “Wait…” Her head cocked to the side, long plaits draping over her shoulders. Keith tensed. Her eyes narrowed. “You! You’re one of _them_ , aren’t you?!”

Fear flared in Keith’s belly, so intense and sudden he had to force himself into stillness. “I don’t know what you’re… talking about…”

The girl squinted and poked his chest accusingly. “You’re one of those merfolk. I’ve heard all about you! You trick selkie-kind with mind control powers and make them do your bidding while you plan to overthrow our government! Well, not today, sir! And not me. I’m protected!” She said, proudly tapping her glasses, which glinted in the store’s fluorescent lighting. “Foil-lined.”

Keith blinked. The fear dimmed. “You’re a selkie?”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Wh- _No_! Who said that?! How do you know for sure? You can’t, that’s how.” She straightened her shirt. “I’ll let you go for now, but you watch your back! I’ve got my eye on you, mister.” She said, lifting the duffel bag over her shoulder and racing away.

Keith stared after her for a while, list in hand, completely bewildered. Eventually, he shook his head, and went back to deciphering the list of hair products.

* * *

 

Plaxum raced across the store, gathering a million things at once. She needed food, and water, obviously, because she didn’t have a home, and clothes, and books, because who can live without a book? Oh, and a phone. Hers wouldn’t work on the surface. She swung the duffel bag- the only thing, plus a plush jellyfish, that she’d been able to smuggle from home- over her shoulder and kept going. She chewed her lip anxiously; she’d had to leave almost everything she owned in her room under the sea, and it was starting to get to her that her dad might destroy them in anger. Her precious figurines and gaming consoles, her chemistry set, her pet sea-spider…

 _I’ll come back for you, Li’l Muffet,_ Plaxum promised silently.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t see the young man in her way until it was too late. She crashed against him, bouncing and falling to the floor with a yelp; the impact almost felt like it _burned_. Her duffel skidded to the side.

“OhmanIamsosorryIshould’velookedwhereIwasgoingandnoIdon’tneedyourhelpI’mfine—” Plaxum rambled as she tried to gather herself. She stood up, and properly studied her poor crash victim. He was tall, much taller than her, but probably around her age. He had sharp, strange eyes, and his hair was dark- ew, was it in a mullet? She almost smiled. Lance would probably mock the hell out of him for it.

 _Lance._ Her heart ached suddenly. _I need to focus on Lance. I need to get back to him._

Her plan of attack had been to infiltrate human society as a regular human, both to monitor the news, in case a selkie was discovered, and to pose as a marine biologist, so she would have access to underwater footage within a large radius. Given that she’d lived underwater for about eighteen years, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to say that she knew the environment pretty damn well. So, Plaxum reasoned, she could definitely pass as a scientist- or, at least, a very brilliant high school student. The main problem had been gathering supplies, and avoiding too much eye contact with people.

Speaking of eye contact, she realised she’d been staring for a while. Plaxum narrowed her eyes, saying the first thing that came to mind. Unfortunately, that happened to be a long, complex conspiracy theory about the stranger’s affiliation with the merfolk that were covertly terrorising selkie-kind. The more she spoke, however, the more confident and convinced she became that he was, indeed, a merperson in disguise. She even taunted him, tapping her foil-accented glasses, which everyone knows is base protection against mind control.

Plaxum made one last threat and moved on towards the store’s exit, very much not planning to pay for anything. _Now to find some shelter._

* * *

 

Lance heard the knock that he and Keith had set up in case Keith had to leave him alone; one (pause), two (pause), three-four. There was a brief break before the faint metal jangling of keys sounded, and Keith let himself in, immediately locking the door behind him. “I got your hair stuff. Some squid, too,” he called, setting down his wallet and hanging the housekeys on a hook by the door. Lance pushed himself up onto his elbows in excitement.

Keith soon came into view, carrying a shopping bag full of various bottles and, as promised, a whole squid. Lance’s stomach grumbled. But he was more excited about the hair products.

Lance eagerly pulled open the bag as Keith sat down on a plastic chair opposite him. He smiled slightly; it was like watching a kid open a birthday present. Lance squinted at the label of each bottle, but stopped when he saw Keith’s raised eyebrow. “Just making sure!” He said quickly, setting down the bag, and squid, on the bathroom floor.

“I got the right things,” Keith said, amused. “I do actually listen to your whining sometimes.”

Lance’s face changed for a brief moment- it was small and almost unnoticeable, like a pond’s surface briefly disturbed, but Keith caught it nonetheless. Lance swallowed, recovering quickly, and grinned. He opened the shampoo bottle, and reached up to apply it to his hair—

“OW!” He dropped his arm, wincing. Keith leapt from the chair and was at his side within a moment. The bottle floated sadly on the surface of the water. “Are you okay?” He gingerly reached for Lance’s arm. “Lean forward,” he said, and bit his lip as Lance did so.

“OW’ is right. How the hell did I not notice this earlier?” Keith said quietly. He studied the wound more closely. It wasn’t catastrophic, but it was still bad; Lance had been bruised all along his shoulderblade, a dark, angry purple staining his smooth brown skin. Keith went to touch the area, fingers as light as a triggerfish. Lance gave a sharp, seal-like whine, and Keith immediately drew his hand back. He held Lance’s forearms, gently guiding him back down.

Lance felt like he was about to cry. He couldn’t even do this? He wasn’t even allowed to wash his own hair for fear of worsening another goddamn injury?

“That bad?” He heard Keith ask gently. Lance shook his head. “No, it’s just…” He sighed, thinking better of it. “It’s stupid. Nevermind.”

Keith sat patiently. He didn’t say anything; just waited for Lance to speak. _Okay…_

Lance tilted his head back, staring at the tiled ceiling. “When I was a kid, I was always envious of my sisters’ hair. Don’t laugh!” He added defensively. Keith raised his hands in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.” Lance nodded. “Okay. Uh. Good. My sisters… They had these long, flowing curtains of multicoloured hair, and… I was stuck with this curly, short-cropped mess. I wanted to look like them, so, I started watching as my sisters cleaned and dyed each other’s hair. They let me sit and study, but promised that if I dared touch any of the products, they’d throw me on an orca’s dining table. Not literally!” He added quickly, seeing Keith’s alarmed expression. “It’s just a saying among selkies.”

He smiled at the memory of his sisters, teasing him playfully, seaweed-based dye trailing from their hair and dissolving into the sea, decorating each other with bits of shells. The memory hurt. His smile faltered. “So,” he said carefully, “I tried to copy what they were doing. I got whatever looked like hair products and went for it. Unfortunately, my first experiment happened to be with squid ink,” he gave a small laugh, unaware that Keith had begun to smile fondly at the tale, too. “My hair looked awful. It was all black and sticky, and I was crying, because I just wanted to look after myself, and it all went wrong. It was like that one scene from _Howl’s Moving Castle_. And don’t say you haven’t seen it, because then I’d have to deal with the fact that you’ve missed out on an essential life experience.” He added. Keith shook his head. “No comment.”

Lance stared. “I’ll unpack that later. But, yeah, that’s how Veronica found me. So, she taught me from scratch how to look after my hair and skin, and how to, uh… get rid of squid ink. I remember how she’d usually wash my hair for me, because I kept getting it in my eyes.”

He looked forlornly at the bottle. “It became… a ritual, for us. We ended up teaching my brothers and cousins, too, and it turned into our little family joke; if your hair wasn’t the envy of Beyoncé, you weren’t a McClain. I guess,” he said, chewing his lip. “I guess it’s just a link to my family.”

Anxiously, Lance turned to Keith, whose expression was soft and unreadable. “Sorry,” he said quickly, face heating up. “I mean, uh, haha, it’s just an ego thing, you know? I gotta have the best hair around. But that’s no contest with you, mullet—what are you—?”

Wordlessly, Keith reached for the bottle of shampoo. He squeezed some into his hand, gestured for Lance to lean forward, and started to rub it into the selkie’s hair. Lance froze at first, as if tempted to pull away, but then sighed contentedly, leaning into his touch. Keith gave a small laugh. “That didn’t take much convincing.”

Lance felt his face heat up. “Wh—Excuse you, mullet, having _anyone_ play with your hair is a God-tier feeling.”

“Is that gonna be my nickname from now on?”

“Yes.” Lance said simply, closing his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. Although Lance couldn’t see, Keith smiled back.

They stayed that way for a while. Lance occasionally let out a low, rumbling noise, almost like…

“Are you purring?”

Lance’s eyes snapped open. He swallowed, trying to ignore the blush steadily creeping up his cheeks. “Uh…” _Not exactly._ “Maybe?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Tilt your head back. Gotta wash it out now.” Lance whined in disapproval. “I know, I know. I also don’t care. Head back.”

He grabbed the designated Toothbrush Cup, filled it with water, and slowly tipped it over Lance’s head, washing the soapy mess out of his hair. Keith honestly, genuinely didn’t understand the need for shampoo- your hair cleans itself every six weeks, so why bother?

But he did understand wanting a link to family.

After Lance’s hair had been washed, Keith picked up the now room-temperature squid and headed for the kitchen, once again reminding Lance that he was just a holler away, should he need anything. Lance warned him not to burn the fish. Keith told him that was _one time_ , and it was because lobster is weird to cook. He heard Lance laugh loudly from the bathroom behind him, and smiled himself as he made his way to the kitchen.

Keith might’ve preferred to eat overly charred food, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to actually cook. He knew his tastes were weird and most people didn’t enjoy the gritty texture of burnt toast in the same way he did. Plus, he thought, carefully slicing the squid, cooking was kind of fun. Shiro always playfully scolded him for burning everything when he was little; he’d roll his eyes, smile, and throw the burnt food out before showing Keith how to cook something normally. Keith remembered protesting, “But I like it like that!”, hurt that Shiro had thrown it away. Shiro’s eyes had softened, and he nodded. Afterwards, whenever they cooked together, Shiro would deliberately burn bacon or toast or rice for Keith, and place it to the side before preparing un-burnt food for himself.

Then they’d eat together at the table, teasing each other, complaining about shitty workers or classmates, Shiro calling out to—

Keith flinched at the memory. _No. Stop it. Stop right there_. Sudden pain shrieked from his finger; he looked down sharply, realising he’d missed the squid and sliced his own finger. “Shit!” He yanked it away from the food. Stupid. Careless. Shouldn’t dwell on the past instead of the present- look what happens.

“Keith? You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Keith called back. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He stared at the thin line of angry red on his finger, watching as dark syrupy red began to coat his skin. He focused on the wound, and winced as it began to throb. His skin was slowly heating up.

The smell of burning flesh started radiating from his finger. Keith clenched his uninjured hand tight, forcing himself not to scream in agony and never stop. It took every fibre of his being just to stay conscious under the dizzying ache _. Just a little longer_ , he thought, gritting his teeth.  _Just a little bit longer._

With one last stinging stab of fire, the wound closed completely, and the bleeding finally stopped. Keith sighed in relief, eyes watering. He practically collapsed in front of the sink, running his hand under the cold tap, cleaning away the blood and bits of burnt skin. A burn would heal more easily than a deep cut on him would, anyway.

It took him a few minutes to compose himself. He took deep, steadying breaths, bracing himself with one hand against the counter while the other was numbed by the constant flow of cold water. When he could see clearly again, Keith cleaned his knife and went back to cooking, refusing to think about… things that he’d rather forget.

Cooking was nice. Procedural. Logical, but flexible. Exactly how Keith liked things to be.

Instead of dwelling on the past, Keith dwelled on his cooking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm not 100% happy with how this chapter ended, but you know how sometimes when youre writing and you just kinda,,,,this chapter couldve ended 50 paragraphs ago  
> it was kind of like "i can end it here or it can go on for another 1000 words. hm." and it felt a little long-winded as it was, so i had to cut it off at some point lmao. im afraid this made for a messy and abrupt end to the chapter however, so, i apologise on that front.  
> as always, feedback is appreciated!!  
> and thank you for reading!!! <3


	5. Chapter 5

Lance was alone in the house when he heard the knocking.

Keith had gone out for the morning, claiming he’d forgotten some groceries when he went shopping. He seemed calm and collected, but Lance knew how to read people; it was like the ocean, in a way. The calmest of tides could hide the deadliest of rips. Keith’s voice was steady, but his eyes shifted. His posture was casual, but his shoulders were tense. If Lance didn’t know better, he’d guess that Keith was embarrassed by something. But what?

The selkie sank down into the bath, letting the water close over his head. Well, there was last night…

Keith had made them both dinner- squid rings for Lance, doused in lemongrass and rosemary and smelling _heavenly_ , and a bowl of pasta for himself, all black sesame and chilli. He’d brought them both into the bathroom, and paused, realising that Lance couldn’t really eat it. Partially because, well, he was in a _bath_ , but also because he still couldn’t raise his arms above his head. Lance had joked that Keith would just have to feed him, what a _shame_ \- and Keith’s eyes had widened in alarm.

Lance immediately backtracked, but Keith recovered almost instantly, giving a half-smirk and saying that he’d get a tea-tray to sit across the bathtub, that he’d be back in a moment. The memory of Keith’s lips turned up ever-so-slightly, lazy and amused, made his stomach flip over. But what stuck in his mind was Keith’s apprehension at something so—so—

 _Intimate_ , his mind supplied. Lance pushed the thought away. No use, no need to overthink it. Overthinking just gets you into trouble, Lance, so drop it. Drop it. Stop thinking about it. Come on, stop—

A loud, aggressive KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK rapped on the wooden door of Keith’s apartment, and Lance flinched, immediately cursing the loud SPLASH that sounded in response. He shut his eyes tight, curling in on himself, willing the knocking to stop. It didn’t. And it wasn’t Keith’s regular, gentle, rhythmic knock, either- it was entitled, angry, impatient.

“Police!” A voice sounded. “Open the door!”

It’s often considered a metaphor, one’s blood running cold. The idea seems impossible- surely the phrase just refers to the chill of fear that thrills up and down your spine. And yet, Lance’s blood ran colder than cold, absolute zero coursing through his veins and seizing his heart.

 _Shit_ , he thought (and immediately uttered a “sorry, _Mami_ ” under his breath). This was really, really bad. Super bad. Ultra bad. The worst. The absolute, complete worst. Bad bad bad.

The knocking grew impossibly loud, and Lance was honestly considering trying to seal-flop his way to a hiding place, when a voice—one he recognised with deathly clarity, but that his mind couldn’t comprehend—began to yell.

 

* * *

 

Plaxum woke to the warmth of the sun.

She’d been hiding under benches, behind bakeries, even resorting to house-squatting in the bathrooms of rich assholes who were away on a yacht expedition to find the World’s Most Pretentious Mini-Golf Arena. Or whatever it is that these damn rich people do.

Right now, she was curled up on the fluffy, intensely comfortable bathmat of once said damn rich person, her plush jellyfish held close to her chest. As much as capitalism sucks and is the enemy of the populace, Plaxum had to admit that living in this kind of luxury every day wouldn’t be such a bad deal.

Of course, she could only feel comfortable doing so if everyone else lived in the same comfort.

She stretched out, feeling the pure cloud-like fluff beneath her fingers, sighing gently. She really should get up- she had a lot of work to do today.

Plaxum hopped up, retrieving her duffel bag of supplies from beneath the sink, stuffing Squorshball- the jellyfish- safely between a brick of water bottles and a box of first-aid supplies. She’d heard rumours circulating about a fisherman who swore up and down he’d caught a selkie in his net, but that it got away; and, on a separate occasion, that a civilian had reported seeing blood splatters on the craggy rock alcove by the side of the beach. Plaxum’s heart panged; she knew perfectly well whose blood it was. She’d followed the scent to this town, anyway.

So, she knew he wouldn’t be dead- hopefully, she prayed- but that he was in bad shape. Hence the first-aid supplies.

She shook her head of the thought. No use worrying about it until she actually found him. Right now, she had to focus.

The blood, if it was ever on the sand, had long since been washed away, but there wasn’t nearly enough evident on the rocks to indicate that he’d died. And there was nothing in recent news about a detained or dead selkie- that meant, at least, that he hadn’t been discovered.

He was injured, but no blood was found on any pathway leading to or from the beach. So either he had miraculously healed- impossible, unless he was completely submerged in salt water- or someone had found him, but not reported him. And that left two options.

  1. One; someone had found him, killed him, and dumped the body, or;
  2. Two; someone had found him and taken him in, and was looking after him.



Plaxum chose to believe the latter, for the sake of her own sanity. Now, all that was left was to find out who it was, and thank them a billion times over for looking after the most important person in her life, for allowing her to finally reunite with him.

After a deep, steadying breath, right down into her belly, just like her father taught her,

_(the memory still made her mind flinch; she was angry, yes, but alone, so alone, her family had abandoned her, and she’d abandoned them, and it hurt it hurt it hurt)_

the selkie girl shook her head and vaulted out of the bathroom window, rolling onto the grass without a sound. She picked up her duffel and slunk away, almost completely off the property before she realised she’d forgotten something crucial.

Plaxum strode back towards the rich asshole’s house, purposeful, powerful. She reached into her bag and pulled out a can of bright blue spray paint.

When Plaxum walked away from the house once more, it was decorated with some lovely graffiti of XY-chromosome anatomy.

She made her way to the nearest police station, pulling out the lab coat she’d managed to swipe from her duffel, and her school ID with it. If she flashed it quickly, it wouldn’t look like a student. Plaxum may have been a thief, but she wasn’t so immoral she’d commit identity theft. Though, she supposed, she kind of was anyway.

Plaxum stuffed her duffel behind some trash cans, hiding it in the overgrown brush, and, straightening the coat, strode into the station with confidence.

“Pardon me, sir,” she said loudly. The teller glanced up. “I need any public records of selkie and/or seal sightings in the area. My colleagues and I have heard rumours that one may have escaped the ocean, and we intend to return it to its natural habitat, far away from us, as soon as possible.” She flashed a smile, though her stomach turned at the words. The ocean wasn’t their only natural habitat. Seals- and selkies- were land-dwellers as well. Why couldn’t people just understand that?

“Identification?” The teller’s voice interrupted her reverie. Plaxum held up her ID, just far enough away so that he couldn’t read it with accuracy. He nodded, shrugging his shoulders and handing over a  clipboard. “Fill out the request form. We’ll get back to you in a week.”

Plaxum bristled, and leant forward. “I don’t think you understand,” she said in a low voice. “My team and I are stretched thinner than your hair trying to track this thing down, and I am not going to wait for a week for you to do your job. This is a top priority, and I’m exempt to fees and overlong waiting. Now,” she said, watching the teller’s eye widen. “do you have any other request forms to process?”

“Uh- no.”

“Is there anyone else in this police station, waiting to be helped?”

“No.”

“Then I suggest you find the files as soon as I fill out this form. If you refuse again, I will be contacting your higher-ups with a report of your insubordination to a higher authority.”

He nodded tentatively. “Uh—yes. Sure. Of course. Sorry, ma’am”

“Thank you.” She smiled again, all too sweetly, and penned out the form.

Name: Jennifer Pembrooke

D.O.B: 18.03.00

Occupation: Certified marine biologist, university lecturer

And so on.

“Little young to be a marine biologist, aren’t you?” The teller asked once she’d handed the form back. Plaxum stared him down. “I was an honours student at an academically selective school. I graduated at sixteen and was given a scholarship for college. The records, please.”

The teller put his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough,” he said, ducking into the back room and re-emerging a moment later with a very, very thin folder. “There isn’t much,” he said, offering it to her. “Just a few people reporting someone carrying a seal from the beach to an apartment block. No evidence, no confirmations, but a warrant was given to any and all officers willing to conduct searches in the area. Sorry,” he added.

Plaxum shook her head, distracted. “It’s fine…” She said absentmindedly, studying the reports. It was rainy, late at night, hard to see… but she had an address. A lead. She was one step closer to finding him. One step closer.

She smiled broadly, and handed the file back to the teller, demeanour entirely different to the fiery professor who’d stormed in a moment earlier. “Thank you, sir. That will be all!”

Cheerily, she strode out of the station, retrieved her duffel, and strode towards the apartment address. It wasn’t even five blocks from the station; she’d passed it on her way to the store. Above, a bird of prey cawed exuberantly, relishing in the sun after days of rain. _Me too_ , she thought fondly, and continued towards the one lead she had on Lance.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith felt like he was suffocating.

Not literally, of course. But it had been so long since he’d been outside, feeling the wind rush past him, the sun glowing warm on his skin. It was early- far too early- but Keith needed to get out of this tiny, cramped apartment.

He opened the bathroom door, leaning in to check on Lance, just in time to see grey-blue skin fade into soft brown. He gave a half-smile and a half-hearted excuse, desperate to escape. Lance tilted his head to the side, narrowed his eyes, but didn’t question him. Keith said he’d be back soon.

And then he left, obscured by the darkened morning. He made his way to the rooftop of the apartment block, discarded his outer clothes, closed his eyes, and leapt.

Wings burst from his shoulderblades, catching the wind before he hurtled to the ground. His skin melted into glittering red scales, his body elongating and growing reptilian, his teeth and nails sharpening into deadly appendages. It happened swift as thought- from boy to dragon.

He let out a cry of relief, soaring higher, higher, higher above the ground. It had been far too long since he’d flown, and his wings beat gratefully at the sky. He knew he should be more careful- it was early morning, sure, and not many people were awake- but a dragon is a dragon. Keith decided to fly a little higher- anyone who saw him might mistake him for a hawk, hopefully.

But care was thrown to the wind, left behind by ruby wings, and Keith’s heart began to race. He angled himself downwards, hurtling towards the beach. Faster, faster, so fast that sound lost all meaning, that sight was a memory, until he was bare metres from the ground. At the very last second, he threw his wings outward, swooping up with a roar of triumph. He felt giddy, an excited thrill burning through his veins. Above him were clouds, fluffy, cold, gentle- and the sun, warm and welcoming, homely and safe. Below him, tiny buildings, tinier people, like dolls, walking, chatting amiably, laughing. Keith pitied them as his wings carried him over the city; they would never know something as amazing as flying.

He’d been able to ever since he was small, but it never got old, never grew boring. Every time he took that leap, let his wings take over, the exhilarated, reckless excitement was as intense as the first time.

He stayed in the air for quite some time- how long, exactly, he couldn’t tell, but the sun had risen into the middle of the sky. With a slight whine of disappointment, Keith turned to make his way back home, remembering with a twinge of guilt that he’d promised Lance he’d be back soon.

The clouds parted, and the sun warmed his back. Keith let himself laugh once more, the sound echoing throughout the valley. One girl looked up and smiled back; Keith’s heart dropped right down to the ground beside her—but she just looked back down and kept walking.

 _Okay, that was reckless, even for you,_ he scolded himself. _Time to get back home._

Keith landed back atop his roof, allowing his dragon form to slowly recede into his human self. He dressed himself, remembering he was supposed to have gotten groceries- he even got to the ground floor- but he was exhausted. As refreshed and elated as he felt, he just wanted to go to bed.

Although he usually took the stairs, Keith hit the elevator button for his floor.

Above, unbeknownst to him, a heavy-footed officer knocked loudly on the door to his apartment.

Above, unbeknownst to him, a spitfire of a girl stomped her way towards the yelling cop.

Above, unbeknownst to him, a seal’s heart rose, crashed down, and rose again, like the chaotic waves of a beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3

**Author's Note:**

> questions? comments? requests? hmu on my writing blog: dhillarearenn !


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